


Uncovering a Really Private Person

by Fringuello



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2020-04-07 08:47:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 16,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19081582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fringuello/pseuds/Fringuello
Summary: The thoughts of John Reese as he learns about his mysterious employer.





	1. Pilot

**Author's Note:**

> If you’ve watched the Extended Pilot, you know that once Reese agreed to work for Finch on the Diane Hansen case, he began keeping a list of information that he was gathering on his employer. “Wealthy” was at the top of the list, and Reese added “Good with computers” during the first scene in the library. Subsequent episodes revealed that he continued to investigate Finch for some time. This story is based upon the assumption that, although the list was never shown in any televised episode, Reese continued to add to it as he uncovered additional information, some through his or Fusco’s research on Finch, but most based upon situations that occurred as the two of them worked the numbers together. 
> 
> Each chapter deals with a specific episode and focuses on Reese’s thoughts as he considers what he has just learned about Finch, or his reactions to an encounter that they just had. This will include not only information that Reese learns on screen during the course of an episode, but also pieces of information that, logically, he discovers despite them not specifically being revealed on screen. Encounters that Reese reacts to will focus mainly on those shown on screen, but some will be ones that I have extrapolated from what we saw in a particular episode.
> 
> I have organized these thoughts by date. On those occasions when evidence of the date of a particular event is provided in the episode in question or in a subsequent episode (whether on video footage, the identification of a specific day in the life of the Machine, or in the form of some document or webpage shown), I have used those dates in the story. However, if you’ve watched the episodes closely for this sort of information, you know that the show was not always consistent in its handling of dates, so I’ve had to make some adjustments. For the many episodes that did not identify any date, I have made estimates. Some days are broken up because Reese learned something at more than one point during the course of that day.
> 
> Obviously, this work will focus heavily on Season 1, because Reese was learning so much about Finch during the first months of their partnership. Episodes from later seasons will show up only to the extent that Reese became aware of new information about Finch, and/or have an encounter that is important to the course of the relationship between the two men.

Sept. 16, 2011 

Who the hell is this guy? Obviously, he’s not hurting for money, and he’s probably used to getting whatever he wants. Which is why he’s so fixated on that Hansen woman—she’s probably an ex who left him because he’s a control freak. But why would he need me to get her back when he’s already got a couple of hired goons and more money than God? 

And how does he know so damn much about me and what I’ve been doing for the government? There’s no way he can know “exactly everything” about me, like he claims, but he knows an awful lot about things that no one outside of a handful of people should know. And the only person who could have had any idea about my doubts is dead. 

The man’s been injured—that much is obvious; he limps, and it seems that he can’t turn his neck. And he’s hiding something, because there’s no way that “Finch” is his real name. But none of that matters, ’cause I let him know that I had no interest in taking part in his crazy plan, whatever it is. At least I’ve got a few bucks that the lawyer gave me in the car to persuade me to stick around to listen his boss’ loony proposal. So I can get a hotel room, clean up, and buy some booze to get me through another night. 

***************** 

Sept. 17, 2011 

I was wrong about at least one thing—this is not just a bored, rich guy going after his ex. Somehow, Finch has managed to access government wiretap recordings. He keeps insisting that he gets information about crimes before they happen. I can’t believe that, but he knows something about what happened to Jessica. And he wants me to work for him so badly that he kidnapped me and risked his life by being alone with me in that hotel room. 

He says he’ll never lie to me, which is a load of crap. But whatever the truth of all this is, it’s obviously important to him. So I’m going to give this a try, and see what happens. 

If I am going to work for this guy, I need to find any information I can about him. All I have time for right now is a quick web search, though, and somehow I don’t think I’m likely to find anything about a rich New York City man by the name of Finch. 

***************** 

There was no trace of Finch on the internet—not that I was expecting any. But when he brought me to the abandoned library he’s using as a base of operations, and I let him know that I had checked on him, he didn’t bat an eye. Same thing was true when I pulled out the list of information that I started keeping on him. Guess he’s expecting me to try to find out more about him. 

Anyway, item number two on my list is “good with computers.” How good, I can’t really say yet. But if I can take him at his word, he put together tech that will let me hack Hansen’s cell phone, so I can listen in and determine her location. And it takes some skill to build all of the identities that he set up for me. 

He’s been at this for a while. That long list of Social Security numbers he has posted shows me that he’s been trying to do something for months, but hasn’t had much success. I wonder why he feels the need to remind himself of his failures every day. 

But what I really wonder is where he gets those numbers from. He’s made it clear that he has no intention of telling me. I hate working blind; it makes everything even more dangerous. And if he wants me to trust him, he’s gonna need to start trusting me as well. 

I’ve agreed to take care of Diane Hansen’s situation, but if Finch doesn’t open up by the time that’s done, I’m gone. 

***************** 

Sept. 19, 2011 

The man doesn’t like firearms. Imagine that. But how could he possibly be naive enough to think that I could do this job without them? 

***************** 

Sept. 20, 2011 

My God. “Good with computers” may be the biggest understatement I’ve made in my entire life. Finch actually built a system that sorts through all of the electronic data that the government gathers, to catch terrorists before they have a chance to act. That means that I’m working for the man who created the system that was running my life in the CIA, what we always called “Research.” 

9/11 changed everything for me. I had resigned from Special Forces, and was ready to spend the rest of my life with Jessica, but after the towers fell, I knew there was a job I had to do. That set me on the path that I followed until Ordos. Now I know that 9/11 changed the course of Finch’s life too, because that’s why he started building the system, what he calls his “machine.” 

But it had a side effect that he didn’t expect, notifying him about the people on what he calls the “irrelevant list.” Everyday people caught up in deadly situations. The people he ignored until his conscience wouldn’t let him ignore them any more. So he built a back door into his system, which gives him Social Security numbers. A back door that the government doesn’t know about. That certainly helps explain why he’s made sure that he doesn’t officially exist. It also explains why he’s had such a hard time saving the numbers, since he doesn’t receive any details about what’s going on. 

But how did he know to bring me into this? When we first met, he said that I needed a purpose. Even when I had him pressed to the wall in the hotel with my arm to his throat, he told me that he thought all that I wanted to do was to protect people. I didn’t think that part of me was alive any more. How did _he_ know? 

***************** 

Sept. 22, 2011 

While I’m still skeptical about his promise never to lie to me, he was straight with me today. He told me that the numbers never stop coming. When I asked him why he chose me, he said he’d been watching me a long time, and that we had more in common than I might expect—like the fact that both of us are presumed dead. And when I asked him why he did this, he made it clear that he’s lost someone too. 

But most important, when I asked what would happen if I stayed, he said that both of us would probably wind up dead. So why is it I’m taking up this suicidal crusade, and feeling more hopeful than I have in years?


	2. Ghosts

Sept. 24, 2011

The man knows how to spot a tail—and how to lose one. He’s probably pulling location info from my phone, but I have to give him credit for being savvy enough to give me the slip.

*****************

Finch was breathing heavily when I left him at the marina; my guess is he was in a lot of pain. I’d sure like to find out more about the injuries he’s dealing with.

*****************

I’m not sure exactly what I was expecting, but I figured I’d see a Finch react in some way when I told him I needed him to go out in the field to help gather information on Theresa’s family, so we could figure out what was going on as quickly as possible. But he barely twitched a muscle. And he did a good job of gathering information from Theresa’s aunt, too. There’s definitely more to the man than meets the eye. After I bandage my hand, I think I’m going to leave my phone behind so I can undertake some unobserved tracking today.

*****************

This afternoon, I followed Finch to a tech business called IFT, where he spent a couple of hours. So I visited the company’s HR office after hours, to see what I could learn about him. It seems that a “Harold Robbins” has been working for IFT for seventeen years as a software engineer. Not an exceptional one—he’s only been promoted twice. But I’d be willing to bet that Finch is secretly the company’s owner; that would certainly explain the money that he has. I think I’ll have a little fun and surprise him at work tomorrow.

*****************

Sept. 25, 2011

Finch certainly knows how to play a cover identity. It was hard to believe that the obsequious employee I heard meekly accepting a dressing down from his supervisor was same person as the always-perfectly-in-control computer genius I’ve been dealing with. Well, not quite perfectly in control today; I enjoyed startling him by showing up in his cubicle. It’s about time that I turned the tables.

But as he said, the best place to hide is in plain sight. The fact that he’s so aware of this leads me to believe that he’s been doing it, and doing it well, for a long time.

*****************

I’m not sure I’ll ever fully comprehend how much money Finch has. When I told him I rented the entire floor of the hotel on his credit card, he actually made a joke. Not a very good one, but still. Clearly, he’s got so much money he doesn’t even care how fast I spend it.

*****************

Sept. 26, 2011

I have to admit that Finch has guts. When I showed up at the hotel, barely in time to stop the hit man, I could see Finch was absolutely terrified. Yet he had done everything he could to try and protect Theresa. She told me later that he urged her to slip out the window to the fire escape, even though there was no way he could physically manage to follow her, so he would have wound up facing the hit man alone. I never would have guessed that he would so willingly risk his life to protect a number—even if it was a young, innocent girl. There’s much more to this man than I expected.

*****************

Sept. 27, 2011 

Any thoughts I might have had about barriers starting to come down were obviously way off base. Finch left his job at IFT because I tracked him down there. The man’s even more paranoid than I am. I told Theresa she was going to have to trust someone, but are Finch and I are ever going to be able to really trust each other?


	3. Mission Creep

Oct. 7, 2011

I caught Finch napping at his computer when I came in this morning. It’s not easy to catch him off guard, so I enjoyed startling him out of his nap, then needling him about a new cover identity. But by the time he put on his glasses, he had recovered enough to settle into full Finch mode, complete with glare. One thing’s clear—bringing him coffee isn’t a maneuver that will get me on his good side.

I assume he isn’t getting enough sleep at night, at least in part because he’s working long hours. I’m pretty sure he never left the library last night, because he was wearing the same suit, shirt, and tie as yesterday, and that’s something Finch never does. Of course, it’s also possible that he doesn’t sleep well because of his injuries. When he stood up from his chair, it was clear that he was stiff and his back was hurting. I’ve gotten the impression that he’s loathe to use medication for his pain, which means he’s always suffering. And sleeping slumped over at his desk certainly didn’t do his back any favors. 

***************** 

I checked in with Finch this afternoon while I was tailing Joey Durban, and when he answered he was panting. At a regular tempo. Made me think that he took up my recommendation that he get some exercise. Of course, he wasn’t about to admit it, even when I reminded him he’d promised never to lie to me.

*****************

Oct. 8, 2011

Finch wants me to wrap up this number right now, but I want to figure out why Durban would get mixed up with a gang of thieves. He gave me leeway to continue, though he told me not to let my personal feelings warp my judgment. Guess that’s a partial vote of confidence.

*****************

I actually got a reaction from Finch when I told him I needed him to create an opening in Durban’s gang, but it was a pretty mild one. And he came through. Pretty clever maneuver, getting the police to pick up the cabbie for weapons that Finch put in his trunk.

*****************

Oct. 9, 2011

You know, maybe there’s an actual sense of humor in there somewhere. Finch almost laughed when I made a joke about whether he could penetrate Sunny Days Kindergarten’s firewall.

*****************

Oct. 10, 2011

I couldn’t believe it. We rushed into evidence lock-up, and there was Finch standing at the counter. I’m sure he tried to call me when he learned that Latimer had set a trap for the gang, but since I had to ditch my earwig when Straub insisted, I was out of contact. So what does Finch do, but put himself in harm’s way just so he could warn me. I’m sure he was terrified to face those weapons, but he didn’t let that stop him.

For so long, I’ve lived by the motto that in the end we’re all alone, and no one’s coming to save us. But I can’t square that belief with what Finch did today.


	4. Cura Te Ipsum

Oct. 12, 2011

I learned some interesting things by listening in while Finch was in the emergency room with Dr. Tillman today. My guess is he didn’t have to do much acting to convince her that he was in pain; he probably just had to lift the veil on what he usually tries to hide. That doesn’t necessarily mean he was being honest when he said that on a good day, his back pain was a 3 on a scale from 1 to 5, but it wouldn’t surprise me if that was true. Finch understands that sticking as close to the truth as you can helps in maintaining a cover.

And I assume the x-rays that showed the doctor that he had spinal fusion surgery a year or two ago were legitimate. Given enough time, I’m sure that he could fake them, but I don’t think he’d want to run the risk of a medical discrepancy that the doctor might catch. So now I know something about the nature of his injuries. But I still have no answers as to how they happened.

*****************

Another almost joke! When I said that we’d have to observe Megan Tillman around the clock to figure out the trouble she’s in, he responded “If you’d like a raise, Mr. Reese, all you have to do is ask.”

*****************

Oct. 13, 2011

Clearly, Finch is not comfortable with my using Fusco as an asset. But that’s hardly surprising, given the man’s level of paranoia.

*****************

Okay, so Finch was right to suggest that Fusco was going to bite me. I hope that I have now managed to knock that tendency out of the detective’s system—though, if I’m being completely honest with myself, I put him in an impossible situation.

*****************

Oct. 14, 2011

As I told Megan again tonight, everybody needs someone to talk to. It’s clear that Finch doesn’t believe that, though. When I asked him why he had taken on the irrelevants mission, he was as evasive as usual. (He couldn’t hide the physical pain he was experiencing, though—I could hear it in his voice, and in the way he paused for breath as he tried to control it.)

Still, in the end, he didn’t insist upon my telling him exactly what I’m going to do with Benton. Maybe he _is_ starting to trust me.


	5. Judgment

Oct. 20, 2011

Finch was too wary for me at the Lyric Diner this morning. He realized that my question about the breakfast options was a ploy to find an opening that revealed some information about where he lives. So the only new piece of information I learned about him is that, despite being such a computer nerd, he likes reading traditional printed books. Maybe that’s why he chose an abandoned library for his base.

*****************

The Machine screwed up, and sent us after the wrong person; it should have told us that the judge’s son was the one in danger. I’m seriously pissed, but Finch won’t admit that the Machine could possibly be mistaken. If you ask me, that’s placing far too much faith in a piece of technology.

*****************

Oct. 23, 2011

I stopped today to have a word with Judge Gates. When I saw him kicking around a soccer ball in the park with his son, I felt a surge of gratitude that I’d been able to be there in time to save the two of them. I can’t remember the last time I felt like this.

So when I joined Finch back in the Lyric Diner, it seemed only right to thank him for making all of this possible. I’m sure he knew that my thanks were genuine, because, for the first time ever, he intentionally shared a piece of personal information with me. Who knows? Maybe there’s a chance that our arrangement could actually become a real partnership.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My comments about connections between POI and the plotline of the final season of _Elementary_ have been moved to Chapter 13.


	6. The Fix

Oct. 23, 2011

I got a kick out of training Finch to pick a lock and sending him to search Zoe Morgan’s apartment. And I enjoyed imagining the look on his face when I told him he’d need to look underneath for whatever she had hidden. But I have to give him credit; as physically difficult as it must have been for him, he did it.

*****************

Oct. 25, 2011

Harold identified the woman who was speaking on the voicemail that Zoe Morgan delivered to Mark Lawson’s men. It was Dana Miller, one of the numbers on the long list of those he wasn’t able to save before he hired me. So this case is now about more than just saving our current number.

*****************

The tech wizard has done it again—he cleaned up the audio enough so we could hear that Dana Miller wasn’t talking about an affair, she was threatening to go public about problems with Virtanen’s new drug.

In a matter of moments, I caught a glimpse of so much that this mysterious man has kept hidden behind his mask. A brief flash of a smile when he revealed his success in determining the actual subject of the voicemail. The frustration in his voice when he spoke of feeling helpless about the numbers before he recruited me. The passion as he admitted how much it would mean to him to finally get justice for a number he had failed to save. And finally, a touch of humor as he urged me not to lose track of Zoe Morgan again.

This case has become so much more than it was at the beginning. It would have been enough simply to save Zoe, but now it’s also my opportunity to do something for him. I really want to deliver, because I need to do this for the man who gave me back my life.

*****************

Oct. 25, 2011

Finch has a great ear. Just by listening, he figured out that the air conditioning was the sound that he needed to clear up the rest of the audio.

*****************

After I texted Finch that we had the FDA report, he let me listen in as he lectured Keller, informing him that he had short-suited Virtanen to the tune of half a million shares. I suppose you don’t get to be a billionaire without a ruthless streak, but it was very impressive to hear him in action. Every time I think that I’ve got a pretty good handle on who Finch is, he reveals a new facet.


	7. Witness

Oct. 26, 2011

Now that he’s finally opening up a little, it’s becoming obvious that Finch has a wonderfully dry sense of humor. I never would have predicted it at the beginning, but I’m really beginning to enjoy his company.

*****************

Charlie Burton reminds me of Harold. Besides the obvious similarities—bespectacled, intellectual, physically unimposing—both men exhibit a strong strain of compassion and quiet strength. We’ll see if he has any of Harold’s courage; so far, he doesn’t seem to be willing to even consider testifying about the murder that he witnessed.

*****************

Oct. 27, 2011 

I made a horrible mistake today. I saved a man I thought was simply an innocent witness to a mob killing—a man that I liked, partly because he reminded me of Finch. But it was just a false face. It turned out he was actually Elias, the mob boss. Who knows how many people are going to wind up paying the price with their lives because I saved this man?

To his credit, Finch was willing to accept his share of the blame. But he tried to rationalize this failure away as inevitable because we receive incomplete information. I am so pissed at him and his Machine! In the end, I just walked away before I could blurt out everything that was going through my mind.

*****************

Now that I’ve had some time to cool down and think things over, I have to admit that Finch was right. After all, this isn’t the first time I’ve been wrong about a number that I thought was the victim. I made that mistake with Diane Hansen, our very first number. And Harold told me right at the start he that we didn’t know which numbers were victims and which were perpetrators. It’s no one’s fault that the man who was a victim in this case turned out to be someone who's likely to be a perpetrator in future cases, not even the Machine’s.

I’m glad that Finch had enough sense to leave me alone yesterday. If he had contacted me before I had enough time to work out things for myself, I would have snapped at him again, and maybe said something that would have split us permanently. But he gave me the time and the space I needed, and I’m not angry any more.

I think that tomorrow morning I’ll do something nice for him and bring him a cup of tea. Of course, I’ll also enjoy his discomfort at the fact that I’ve observed him closely enough to figure out he drinks Sencha green tea with one sugar.


	8. Foe

Oct. 28, 2011

I brought in Finch’s tea this morning. If I hadn’t been watching closely, I would have missed his reaction—just a slight widening of his eyes in surprise, then a quick return to a carefully neutral expression as I assured him I didn’t know his favorite color yet. He volunteered the information that he doesn’t drink coffee, but I imagine he’s aware that I’d figured that out already, since he’s never touched the coffee that I’ve brought in for him.

He surprised _me_ by being aware of a ready source on 1980s espionage. The connections that Finch has at hand seem amazingly unlimited. He’s so much more than a computer nerd.

*****************

I think I scandalized Finch when I pulled the Barrett sniper rifle out of the trunk and told him I needed a spotter. Still, he handed me the magazine without prompting, and while his estimate of distance was off, he determined wind angle and speed like a pro. How in the world did he learn to do that?

*****************

Nov. 1, 2011

I went back to cemetery today to visit Ulrich Kohl’s grave. Of course, the name on the marker is Wallace Negel. I wonder if his wife and daughter have been told the fake name that he’s buried under.

It’s been hard to let go of this number; my time with Kohl was like looking into a mirror. Like me, he was a soldier who followed orders to do unspeakable things in order to protect his country. He couldn’t find any way back; as he told me, “I never had a tomorrow.” He intentionally set up the circumstances so that I would kill him. Maybe that’s the same fate that I’m destined for. Once you’re walking in the dark, is there any way back?

Then Finch joined me at the grave. I’m not sure why he came—maybe he had an inkling of the mood I was in. I told him I always thought I’d die in a place that didn’t know my name. I suppose I expected him to assure me that wouldn’t be the case, but instead, he asked whether I thought anyone would care for _our_ names. That was when I realized what sets me apart from Ulrich Kohl—I’m not alone any more.


	9. Get Carter

Nov. 30, 2011

Finch managed to plant a camera in Carter’s car. He’s good in the field, even under pressure.

*****************

When I returned to the library, Finch was in the process of installing a camera in a policeman doll. The plan is to give it to Fusco for him to put it on his desk, so we can keep our eyes on Carter in the precinct. Pretty clever. The fact that it will embarrass Fusco is just icing on the cake.

Interestingly, when I teased Finch about collecting dolls, he supplied a gusher of information—at least measured in Finch terms. He told me he collects not only rare books (which has been obvious from the beginning, as he has a stash of his most prized volumes behind lock and key at the library), but also 180 gram vinyl (which doesn’t surprise me, as he’s a man who appreciates classics) and Xerox Altos (which I had to look up—turns out that they were early computers).

I let him know I was going to have stick close to Carter, which, inevitably, prompted a lecture on the danger of her possibly catching me. I told him I was sure that if that happened he’d figure something out, then referred to him as “Harold,” just to annoy him.


	10. Number Crunch

Dec. 14, 2011

When I entered the library around noon, the computer screens were up and running, but Finch was nowhere in sight, so I took the opportunity to do a little browsing in the stacks. I spotted a copy of _The Ghost in the Machine_ sitting on top of some shelved books. It wasn’t labeled with a call number, so it must be Finch’s personal copy. I picked it up to take a closer look and a photo fell out, a black and white photo of two young men, one of whom I’m pretty sure is Finch, with “In the beginning . . . N.I.” written on the back.

I didn’t have much time to consider the photo before Finch called out and we started working the multiple numbers we had just received. But I’m wondering whether he set out this clue intentionally, because it’s certainly out of character for him to leave personal books sitting in odd places in the stacks. And before I left to check on the first number, he told me, cryptically, “Careful what you look for Mr. Reese, or you might find it.” That’s a mixed message if I ever heard one. Maybe it means he’s ready to share some personal information with me, even though he’s still not comfortable with simply telling me.

*****************

Claire Ryan was already dead by the time I got to her apartment. If the other three Numbers are connected to her, it’s important to get eyes on them immediately, so I put Fusco on one of them and told Finch I needed him to track the other. He was resistant at first, but I pressured him into action. He sounded confident that he could successfully track Matt Duggan.

*****************

I’m kicking myself right now. When I sent Harold out to track Matt Duggan I put him in danger, because someone planted a bomb to get rid of Duggan. Harold realized what was happening just before the bomb went off and tried to warn Duggan, which meant he was caught in the explosion. He’s not responding, so I’m worried that he may be badly hurt. Fortunately, he told me his location before getting out of the taxi, so I know approximately where to find him. I need to get to him as quickly as possible.

*****************

When I reached the burning car, Harold was still sitting on the ground on the other side of the street, stunned by the jolt of the explosion, the shock of seeing someone blown up right in front of him, or both. It took a few moments to get him to focus on me. It didn’t help that his ears were still ringing from the explosion.

There were no visible injuries, and I didn’t feel any broken bones. But the flash of pain on his face as I checked him out made it clear how much he was suffering from the impact of being thrown to the ground with such force. So I lifted him to his feet and let him lean on me while we walked to an unobserved spot on a side street where I could break into a car and settle him into the passenger seat.

I drove to the library and deposited him on the ground floor before moving the car a few blocks away. By the time I returned, Harold had flopped over in the chair where I had left him, which probably meant that he had tried—and failed—to stand up. He had begun to recover his hearing, and was aware enough to object when I picked him up to carry him up the stairs—not that I let that stop me.

I took him to a back room with a cot that I discovered a couple of weeks ago while roaming the library. He wasn’t happy when I removed his jacket and tie and unbuttoned his collar, but I didn’t let that stop me either. Searching around the table by the cot, and then in the nearby bathroom, I finally found a bottle of pain meds. The fact that he didn’t protest when I brought him a pill to swallow tells me just how much pain he was in. Fortunately, the pill knocked him out pretty quickly.

I don’t think I’ll be getting much sleep tonight. I’ll be staying here in the library, trying to do some research on the two remaining numbers while I keep an eye on Harold. And I’ll be wondering about this man who values the lives of others so much that he actually ran _toward_ a bomb.

*****************

Dec. 15, 2011

I tried to let Harold sleep in this morning, but true to form, he woke early. He walked into our work area slowly and gingerly, doing his best to appear as if nothing had happened—including wearing an entirely different set of clothes than what he had on yesterday, which suggests that there’s a closet here that I need to check out some time. He was clearly embarrassed about needing my help after the explosion, so I decided it was best to act as if was just a normal day and get to work on locating the two remaining Numbers.

While he got back on the computer, I checked out Wendy McNally’s salon and apartment, only to discover that she seems to have disappeared without letting anyone know where she was going. Since she left her phone behind at the salon yesterday, we can’t track it to reveal her current location. So I returned to the library, hoping that Harold had had more luck.

But when I returned, he was busy blaming himself for his failure to save Matt Duggan. Spouting words a mile a minute, he was spinning himself into a panic attack. I tried to talk him down, but his failure to find a connection between the two remaining numbers set him off again. I think it was less my verbal reassurance than my hand on his shoulder that finally succeeded in calming him. And damn, if the man didn’t immediately resume firing on all cylinders—he identified an automobile crash that connected the three numbers whose cell phones we’ve accessed. Then he gave me information on Wendy’s mother that may help me track the girl down.

*****************

I had to chuckle at the suggestion that Fusco move his phone from his belt to his pocket, away from the detective’s lower intestine. Sounds like Finch is back in his groove. 

*****************

This is it; I’m going to die. With a bullet in my gut and another in my leg, there’s no way I’m getting out of this before Snow catches me.

Somehow, Harold caught on to what was going to happen, but his call didn’t reach me in time to prevent it. I was glad for the opportunity to thank him for giving me a second chance, but dammit, he’s going to try to save me! I told him not to come, not to put himself at risk, but given what he tried to do for Matt Duggan yesterday, I doubt he’s going to listen.

*****************

Finch showed up. And Carter let us go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, Reese will spend plenty of time pondering Finch’s efforts to save him. But he’s in pretty rough shape by the time Finch is driving him somewhere for medical help, so it seems more appropriate to place these thoughts as part of the next episode’s installment.
> 
> If you’re interested in reading my interpretation of Finch’s point of view of what took place after he tried to warn Matt Duggan about the bomb, you can find it in the second chapter of my story, “Hand On My Back,” which is at https://archiveofourown.org/works/16855072/chapters/39573754 .


	11. Super

Dec. 15, 2011

Harold’s brought me to a coroner’s office. Hope he’s not just being efficient.

*****************

Dec. 20, 2011

I woke up enough this morning to have an actual—brief—conversation with Harold. I appear to be in some sort of medical facility, but that’s as much as I can determine. I’m pretty hazy on what’s been going on; Harold tells me I’ve been mostly out of it for the last few days. But when I woke up again tonight, I actually remembered what we talked about this morning. What really registered with me is that both times I woke up, Harold was right there.

*****************

Dec. 23, 2011

As soon as I could be moved, Harold set me up in a hotel suite and brought in someone to provide the physical assistance and therapy that I need to recover. Knowing Harold, I’m sure Ben was closely vetted and is being paid extremely well for both his expertise and his discretion. He does his job well; my only complaint is that I think I could recover more quickly if he didn’t keep putting the brakes on me during my sessions.

Harold comes by at least twice every day. He’s returned to his usual completely business-like demeanor, but I won’t forget the look on his face when he rescued me. 

I have spent a lot of time these past few days thinking about everything that he did. Obviously, he had a plan in place for if—when—I was badly injured and needed emergency medical care. Once we were far enough away from the parking ramp to stop worrying about the CIA catching us, he stopped to provide basic first aid. He knew enough to try and slow the bleeding by putting a tourniquet on my leg and having me put pressure on the wound in my abdomen. And he took steps to prevent shock by elevating my legs and keeping me warm with a blanket.

Most importantly, he had already searched out someone with medical skills that he was pretty sure would be willing to help me, but also to keep it secret. He had a bag full of money ready, and knew where to grab a lab coat and a gurney so he could wheel me in to the coroner’s office. Given everything that I’ve learned about Harold so far, that incredible level of preparation doesn’t surprise me. What _does_ surprise me is that he didn’t just abandon me. He should have. I’m expendable—he isn’t.

*****************

Dec. 25, 2011

I might not have realized that today was Christmas, except that Harold gave Ben time off and spent the entire day with me. He even brought in Christmas dinner for the two of us, boxed up from a restaurant. If he can cook, he’s shown no sign of it so far.

After dinner, on a whim, I asked Harold whether he’d ever seen the 30-Second Bunnies Theatre version of “It’s a Wonderful Life.” He hadn’t, so I introduced him to it, and he chuckled a couple of times, which I took as evidence that he was familiar with the actual movie. More or less as a joke, I suggested that it would only be appropriate for the two of us to follow tradition and watch it; to my surprise, he agreed.

Every time I looked over to see his reaction, he had a small smile on his face, though he nodded off in his chair around the time George Bailey realized that he didn’t have Zuzu’s petals any more. I figured he could use the sleep, so I put up with his snoring until finally George woke him up as he ran shouting through the streets of Bedford Falls.

*****************

Jan. 15, 2012

Ben is gone now; the rest of my recovery will be on my own. I’m in a wheelchair, but I can get around with crutches if necessary, at least for short distances.

Harold says he’s going to be moving me to a new location tomorrow. He didn’t say why, but I’m sure that Mark is still looking for me, so maybe Harold is trying to keep a few steps ahead of the CIA.

There must be numbers coming up while I’m recovering, but Harold hasn’t mentioned anything about them. I don’t want to bring up the topic, because I know that he’ll feel guilty about ignoring them, even though there’s really not much he can do about them while I’m laid up.

*****************

Jan. 16, 2012

I just moved into the apartment that Harold rented for me. It turns out that he chose this location because the super, Ernest P. Trask, is our new number. I’m not sure how this is going to work with me still in the wheelchair, but I’ll do whatever I can.

I asked Finch to keep an eye on Carter while Snow is hassling her. He doesn’t share my sympathy for her situation, but as I pointed out, she _did_ let us go. 

*****************

Finch brought in supplies this afternoon. Along with the inevitable computer hardware, he provided books (he expects me to find time to read during a Number?) and a doughnut-shaped cushion, which he presented to me rather triumphantly. I suppose he must have found that kind of cushion helpful while recovering from his injuries, but there’s no way I’m going to use that thing.

I got the chance to needle him with a crack about the possibility of Trask being about to snap and kill his boss. I also pointed out that some leg work was necessary, and he was going to have to be the one to do it.

*****************

Finch planted a camera in Trask’s apartment and discovered some photos of Lily Thornton while he was checking it out, but he was so focused on his task that he didn’t leave immediately when I warned him Trask was returning. As a result, he almost got caught.

I certainly didn’t enjoy acting as his handler and watching him in danger. It makes me appreciate what it’s like for him when I’m in the field. I need to get back on the job as soon as possible, but in the meantime, I need to do more to prepare him to defend himself.

*****************

Jan. 17, 2012

I followed up on the photos Finch found in Trask’s apartment with on-line research on Lily Thornton. I wanted to go out to tail her today, but as he pointed out, that really wasn’t sensible. So I gave him the bump key I made for him, and tried to teach him some basic self-defense moves. Unsurprisingly, he wasn’t comfortable with my suggestion of aiming for his attacker’s eyes.

*****************

Harold managed to get Lily away from Morris before Trask and I finally got there and finished him off. I can’t say my gut didn’t hurt a lot while I was fighting Morris, but it sure felt good to finally be doing my job again.

*****************

Somehow, in the midst of everything he was doing, Finch managed to figure out that Trask was in Witness Protection, and uncover details of his actual past. Turns out every tall tale Trask was telling was true. I have no idea when Harold had the chance to get on-line to search for that information, so I suggested that the Machine is really just _him_. He chose not to dignify that statement with a response.

I told him I’d be ready for the next number. That’s when he revealed that one had already come up and he’d arranged for Carter to handle it. The last time the two of us talked about her he was still skeptical of her intentions, but I guess he changed his mind, at least enough to set her up for a trial run with one of the numbers.

A couple of minutes later, he hacked into the camera feeds from a bar just in time to see Carter handcuffing a man. He called to tell her “That is what we do.” Between the CIA shooting me and her experience tonight, I don’t think she’s going to be chasing me any more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to the time stamps from the Machine’s surveillance footage, John was shot at 8:50 p.m. While the precise time Harold arrived at the parking ramp is not indicated, it was probably within five minutes of the shooting. Yet another time stamp shows the arrival at the coroner’s office at 11:18 p.m. So why didn’t Harold get John there sooner? Seems he would have wanted to get help as quickly as possible.
> 
> He definitely did stop at some point to try to slow the bleeding; the scene with the coroner shows a belt serving as a tourniquet for the leg and a white towel that John is holding to his abdomen. But stopping to take care of that would only take a few minutes, so it does little to explain the two and a half hours. Perhaps the coroner’s office is not in New York City—I can see the security benefit of removing John a greater distance---but would Harold really feel comfortable in taking that much time to get him the help he needs?
> 
> This puzzles me, but since John is pretty fuzzy while most of this is going on, I decided I could get away with ignoring these issues in terms of John’s memories.
> 
> 30-Second Bunnies Theatre is a real thing. You can find their version of “It’s a Wonderful Life” at http://angryalien.com/1204/wonderful_lifebuns.asp .


	12. Legacy

Jan. 18, 2012

When I told Harold that Carter had asked to meet with me, he agreed that I would speak with her about joining our mission, and even gave me a phone for her to use, but urged me to continue to proceed cautiously. Carter is clearly intrigued, but it’s not going to be easy for her to adjust to the kind of “creative methods” that Finch and I have been known to employ.

*****************

It’s getting a little complicated now that we have both Fusco and Carter working with us. While Carter was on the phone with me, Fusco called to let me know she was taking a mysterious phone call. Finch thinks it will be too complicated to keep the detectives in the dark about each other, but I’m not ready to enlighten them. And I’m still not sure enough about Fusco to risk him knowing about Carter.

*****************

Jan. 19, 2012

Harold wasn’t in when I arrived at the library this morning, so I took a shot at logging in to the computer. He arrived just as my first attempt to guess his password failed. When I stood up to make way, he didn’t say anything about what I was doing, but shot me a patented Finch look and an arch “Excuse me” as he sat down at the keyboard. Then his phone rang, and suddenly he was heading out the door to meet the caller. When I questioned him about what he was up to, he was as evasive as usual, but looked uncertain. Something is definitely going on.

*****************

Since we don’t know exactly who it is that wants to kill Andrea Gutierrez, I met with her this morning as a client. Finch checked in with me while I was in her office, no more forthcoming about his mysterious appointment than he had been earlier, so I decided to have a little fun at his expense. I told Andrea I had come to her because I wanted to sue my boss, describing him as a rich, loner type who was manipulative and secretive. I enjoyed throwing in “strange” and “eccentric” too. I can just imagine the look on his face as he listened in.

*****************

After I set up Galuska to be picked up by the police, I decided to tail Harold to find out what’s going on with him. I tracked him downtown where he met up with a young man in his twenties. I wanted to hear what they were discussing, but there’s no way I could bluejack Finch’s phone without him knowing, and I figure I’d be running the same risk if I tried it with the kid’s phone. But I was prepared; a while back I picked up a laser microphone, and I was able to set up on a window of the loft apartment that Harold followed the kid into without either of them noticing me. Then I listened in to their conversation while I took some photographs.

The kid’s a doctor who’s just returned from doing mission work abroad. Clearly, he and Harold are close—Harold not only smiled more times during their conversation than he has in all the months we’ve been working together, he actually _hugged_ him.

Even though they’re close, Harold has kept some big secrets. The kid thinks Harold’s in the insurance business, which I suppose is a cover identity. Evidently, Harold and the kid’s father, who owned the loft, were good friends. The father is dead; it’s not clear exactly how long ago that happened.

All of this raises even more questions for me, and I’m worried that this individual might wind up becoming a threat to Harold and to our mission. But I can’t afford to spend much time on the matter while I’m working on Andrea’s situation, so I’m going to put Fusco on it.

*****************

I found out tonight that Finch has a safe house we can use for the numbers. That doesn’t surprise me, given his extreme level of preparation. Knowing him and the money that he has, he’s probably lined up more than one.

*****************

Jan. 20, 2012

Harold built a scanner that would fit inside the DFS’s shredder so we can catch Gloria Copeland shredding incriminating documents. That was the easy part; I was a little worried about him getting into the DFS office, inserting the scanner in the shredder, and leaving without getting caught. I’ll have to give him style points; not only did he take care of the task amazingly quickly, he joked about it along the way—and this time his dry comments were fairly funny.

*****************

Jan. 23, 2012

Finch has been out of the library quite a bit over the last few days. In the meantime, I’ve done some research and learned that the previous owner of the loft was Nathan Ingram, the man the public believes was the sole founder of IFT. Of course, I’m pretty certain that Finch actually co-founded the company with Ingram. Given that information, and the photographs I’ve now seen of the man, it’s obvious that he’s the N.I. in the photo with Finch that I found last November. Ingram died in the bombing at the Libertas Ferry dock in 2010. The kid is Ingram’s son, Will.

This afternoon, Finch called to say he wouldn’t be back at the library today. When I let him know I was concerned because he was clearly worried about something, he retreated into his usual evasiveness, telling me “I hope you understand that there are certain things that I can’t tell you.” Obviously, I’m going to have to keep tabs on this potential threat by other means, so Fusco is going to stay busy helping me out on this.

He was tailing Finch this afternoon, and saw him meet with Will Ingram again at the loft. He wasn’t able to hear their conversation; I couldn’t leave the laser microphone in place because Finch might have spotted it, and, in any case, I don’t want Fusco eavesdropping on any discussions that might concern the Machine. So I don’t know exactly what Finch and Ingram talked about, other than the fact that it bothered Finch enough that he felt he had more pressing things to do than to come to the library today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the televised episode, Reese is listening to the conversation between Finch and Will while they’re in the loft. For the reasons that I specified, I don’t think that Reese could be listening via a bluejacked phone, so I had to do some research on alternate surveillance methods, and a laser microphone seemed the best option. Of course, the very fact that I performed such an internet search is enough to get “Research” to pay more attention to me!


	13. Root Cause

Jan. 24, 2012

As I was watching Scott Powell with his family today, I asked Finch if he’s ever craved a more conventional life. He responded that he _had_ thought about a life without the numbers, but I think that, simply by asking the question. I revealed more than I learned.

*****************

Harold’s going to join me for a stakeout tonight, his first. That should be interesting. He seemed quite cheerful about the prospect—until I let him know why he should bring an empty water bottle.

*****************

Finch brought a can of chips with him on the stakeout just so he could build a homemade Wi-Fi receiver with the can. Why would he do that, when he could easily have purchased one to bring along tonight, assuming he doesn’t own one already? Frankly, I think he was just showing off.

*****************

Jan. 25, 2012

Someone set up Powell to appear to be the sniper who shot Congressman Delancey, and we didn’t figure it out in time to prevent that from happening. Of course, when I suggested that the Machine had been fooled, Harold wouldn’t hear of it, insisting that the Machine flagged Powell because he’s a victim. He’s probably right; whoever set this up intends for Powell to die.

*****************

Finch is tracking the hacker who put all of the incriminating content on Powell’s computer. This is something I’ve never seen before—Harold being impressed by someone else’s skill in coding.

*****************

When I talked to Harold, I could tell that he was enjoying the challenge of tracing the way back to the hacker. But then he realized that it was a trap—a worm was infecting our computers and phones. We had to cut off contact immediately and destroy our phones, so it’s a good thing he had planned ahead for this type of contingency. I’m taking Powell to a motel while Harold regroups.

*****************

I made contact with Finch again. He’s relocated, since the library is now compromised. He said that he’s called in a specialist with knowledge of political arena; when he referred to the specialist as “she,” I knew he must mean Zoe Morgan. I’m really surprised that he’s willing to take the risk of bringing in someone else to assist us, especially after his system was hacked.

*****************

Jan. 26, 2012

The hit man’s phone rang just as I reached Finch’s car, so I handed it to him to answer. It was the hacker calling to ask if the job was finished; Finch simply replied that it was about to be. The man’s a cool customer.

*****************

Harold told me about the scheme Zoe planned and the two of them executed to record evidence proving that Matheson hired someone to kill Delancey. It sounds like they worked well together, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he calls upon her for assistance again in the future.

He’s going to hire Powell to oversee a construction project for a company he controls. I told him that was a noble thing for him to do, but the man seems to be allergic to compliments. He quickly brushed it aside, saying “I just value good people.”

The hacker got away before the FBI reached the address that Finch gave them anonymously. About all we know is that she’s a woman, young enough to pass as a college student. Finch is going to have to determine what damage has been done to his system before we can return to our standard operations. So it looks like I’ll have some time off until he contacts me again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that Finch would tell Reese about the IRC chat with Root, but I’m going to place that in the next episode’s installment.
> 
> At least one member of the creative team for Elementary must have been a POI fan. The story arc for the season seven (the final season, broadcast in 2019) had Holmes and Watson dealing with Odin Reichenbach, a tech billionaire who used his tech to determine individuals who seem likely to commit violent crimes, then have them killed before they could do so.
> 
> And there was a second point of connection in the sixth episode of the season. Myk Watford played Davis Whitmark, a character hired to shoot out a hotel window with a sniper rifle. What Whitmark didn’t know is that this was a ploy to get a protected witness moved and then, ultimately, killed. Watford is also the actor who played Scott Powell in “Root Cause,” the character hired to shoot a confetti gun and thus wind up as the patsy for the assassination of a congressman.
> 
> Finally, the title of the Elementary episode was “Command: Delete.” That sure sounds like a POI title!


	14. Wolf and Cub

Jan. 27, 2012

Finch told me that the hacker, who calls herself Root, contacted him via IRC yesterday. Not only did she know how to contact him, she referred to him as “Harold,” and said that she looked forward to the next encounter. On the surface, he’s as calm as ever, but I can tell he’s really shaken by this. I don’t blame him.

*****************

Jan. 28, 2012

Finch and I returned to the library tonight. Once I made sure that there was no one in the building, he carefully scanned for bugs. If I thought the man was paranoid before, that was nothing compared to tonight. But that’s completely understandable, given what happened. 

He’s got a lot of work ahead of him, rebuilding his all his systems from scratch. I offered to help, but he sent me out to start working the next number instead. That raises a new mystery—how did he receive a number when the library was down?

*****************

I arrived at Darren McGrady’s apartment, only to discover that a murder had already taken place. Finch was quite miffed when I suggested that the Machine gave us his number a couple of days late. Of course, he was right again—it turned out that the victim was Darren’s older brother who had been killed. But why didn’t the Machine warn us in time to save _him_?

*****************

Jan. 29, 2012

Finch was out of the library late this afternoon. He claimed to be getting the new hardware he needs for his system, and said he expects to have it up and running in a couple of hours. I’m certain that there’s something more going on that he’s not telling me about. But that’s why I’ve put Fusco to work on the matter.

*****************

Damn Fusco. He let Darren run off, and he’s blaming it on the Finch research project.

*****************

Jan. 30, 2012

While I was on the phone with Finch, waiting for him to get upon on the GPS on Curtis’s phone, he expressed his disapproval of the fact that I was letting Darren accompany me while I worked to bring his brother’s killers to justice. I couldn’t just let that pass, so I commented on issues of our own partnership, and his recent absences from the library. Of course, he just acted as if I hadn’t said anything and told me that the GPS was up.

*****************

Jan. 31, 2012

No sooner was my back turned than Darren ran off with the gun, going after his brother’s killers. So Carter got her opportunity to tell me “I told you so.” Finch did too, as I had to call and tell him, since I needed him to bring me supplies to stop the criminals and rescue Darren.

*****************

Feb. 1, 2012

I said goodbye to Darren today. I’ll miss that kid, but we’ve done what we can to set him up for a better future. Finch got him admitted into a charter school for the arts where he can study his music. He also helped me look into a potential foster family that’s been lined up for Darren. 

Fusco reported to me on what he’s learned about Finch so far. Evidently, he’s got quite a number of aliases, which is no surprise. The oldest of them is Harold Wren, an insurance company underwriter. But even that alias only goes back to 1976, when he was a freshman at MIT. That’s where he met Nathan Ingram—they graduated in the same class. Fusco located some photos, including the one of Finch and Ingram that I found in that book in the library.

That’s a significant amount of information, but it raises more questions than it answers. Why did Finch start using an alias at such a young age? Why does no one at IFT know anything about him being a co-founder? Did Ingram know anything about his true identity?

On top of all that, I still don’t know what Will Ingram is up to.


	15. Blue Code

Feb. 9. 2012

I assume that Finch had something to do with Carter showing up with weapons just as I escaped from the trunk. He had to have been uneasy that we were out of contact for more than twelve hours. But when I answered his call, all he asked about was Cahill’s whereabouts, not my welfare. That certainly shouldn’t bother me, but I guess I’ve gotten spoiled by his concern about my welfare during previous numbers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot to work with in this episode.


	16. Risk

Feb. 17, 2012

It’s been obvious from the beginning that clothes matter a great deal to Finch. Not only does the man dress himself expensively and impeccably, he’s seen to that I’m well-dressed in custom suits. I never truly understood the meaning of the term “bespoke” until I started working with him.

It was in the matter of clothing that he demonstrated another unsuspected talent this evening—tailoring. Not only did he have the supplies, it was clear that he knew exactly what he was doing. He was annoyingly precise about the proper length of the pant legs on the expensive new suit he had made for me so I can meet our new number in his Wall Street office.

Evidently he’s not much impressed by those who make their money in the stock market; he referred to our new number, a prop trader in Baylor Zimm, as a “typical over-educated, over-compensated Wall Street high flyer.”

When I confessed I knew nothing about stocks, he told me that all that was required was looking clever and wearing the right clothes, and that we had managed the second part. I get the feeling he had that particular insult locked and loaded before I even put on the new suit.

***************** 

Feb. 18, 2012

Today, while he was working on the roof, Finch mentioned that he is not fond of heights. It’s just like him to admit to a fear in the same moment that he’s pushing past it.

*****************

Feb. 21, 2012

Finch provided $153 million from a Swiss bank account so I could get access to Adam Saunders in the first place. Now he’s planning to send in Adam tomorrow to buy up enough Tritak stock to stabilize the price. He really _does_ have more money than God!

*****************

Feb. 22, 2012

Joan asked who is looking after me these days. I told her it was someone new, knowing full well that Harold was listening to our conversation. He doesn’t accept compliments easily, but I hope he realizes how much I appreciate everything he’s done for me.


	17. Baby Blue

March 6, 2012

I can’t believe that Finch just kidnapped a baby, even if she is our new number. That sounds like something I’d do, but Finch has never impressed me as someone who acts on impulse.

*****************

March 7, 2012

It’s been fascinating observing Harold with a baby. I wouldn’t have expected him to have a paternal bone in his body, but once again, he’s surprised me. He managed to cope with Leila overnight, even though she was evidently rather fussy and kept him from sleeping. This morning he brought her to the library—along with what seems like half the contents of a baby store. He didn’t buy a playpen, however; he built one out of books instead. I sure wish I had been there to see that.

He demonstrated how to change the baby’s diaper as if he was teaching a student how to handle an engineering project. (My comment that his time at MIT hadn’t been wasted led him to flash me one of his patented looks, but he didn’t bother to confirm or deny.) I called him later in the day to report on my surveillance of the Petrosians, and while the way he was talking to Leila wasn’t exactly cooing, it was damn close.

*****************

Leila got out of her makeshift playpen today, and Harold panicked. I rushed back to the library as quickly as I could to join the search, and found her in the midst of my weapons stockpile, chewing on a tear gas grenade. Fortunately, I managed to get it away from her before anything happened. Finch whisked her away, chiding me for not having moved my weapons as promised. I felt like a teenage boy being scolded by his father.

Now Finch has decided we have to take Leila to her grandparents, who he’s moved to a safe house. He’s right—that’s the only sensible thing to do. We can’t look after her properly while we’re busy trying to stop the threat aimed at her.

*****************

When we reached the safe house, I left Harold and Leila in the car while I checked to make sure the coast was clear. It wasn’t; two men were roughing up the Cruzes to find out where Leila was. I managed to drive them out, but they sped off in their van before I even got out the front door.

Then I turned around and my heart lurched when I saw Harold lying on the sidewalk, unconscious. As I neared him, I could see a bruise forming from a blow to his head. And Leila was gone.

I was very relieved that he woke up quickly. He doesn’t seem to have a concussion, but I’m sure he has bad headache. He won’t admit to it, but his eyes are squinting due to the pain, and he did let Veda tend to him.

What’s really bothering him, I imagine, is that he let one of the thugs take Leila from him. He feels he should have stopped it somehow, although there’s really nothing he could have done against an armed man. It’s all my fault—I shouldn’t have left him and Leila out there alone and unprotected.

*****************

Contacting Elias is the only thing I can think of to find out how to reach Leila before she’s taken out of the country. Harold thinks it’s too risky, but I’m out of options.

*****************

March 8, 2012

Harold and I were both a little sad to hand over Leila to her grandparents tonight. Having her around these last few days made me think about what it would be like to have a family, and I wondered aloud whether he’d been thinking the same thing. But I know that’s really not possible, given the work that we do. And Harold’s response was as cryptic as ever: “The problem with children is that you never know how they’re going to turn out.”


	18. Identity Crisis

March 29, 2012

I brought in a box of doughnuts this morning, and after asking if the box contained _croquillants_ (which, I have since learned, is essentially a fancy term for crunchy doughnut holes), Finch snatched one right up. Seems he has a bit of a sweet tooth.

He seemed almost miffed that he could find so little information on-line about the new number, Jordan Hester. That got him started on the subject of social networking, which he claims to have invented as a way to get people to volunteer more info for the Machine to use. I swear, one of these days he’s going to tell me that he created the earth—and I’ll halfway believe him.

*****************

Since Finch’s initial research turned up two Jordan Hesters, we each took one of them to check out. Finch certainly isn’t reluctant to go out in the field any more, and so confident about his abilities that he was even willing to take part in a bet as to which of us could get into our Hester’s apartment first.

***************** 

Finch’s Jordan Hester returned to her apartment, trapping him in a closet. He was stuck there for over an hour, so finally I went to that building and pulled a fire alarm to make it possible for him to leave without being noticed. Of course, pulling the alarm meant that the automatic sprinkler system went off. When he strode into the library twenty minutes later, soaking wet, it was clear that he was not amused. I have to admit that the phrase “mad as a wet hen” kept running through my brain, but I was smart enough not to say it, or to let a grin actually reach my face—though that took some effort. Instead I just tossed him a towel and avoided looking directly at him.

*****************

Harold is talking to his Jordan Hester; she may have realized he was tailing her. Fortunately, it looks like mine is the perpetrator, who has stolen her identity to cover the fact that he’s in the ecstasy business. So it’s probably okay that Harold’s taken the woman to tea in order to keep an eye on her. I think he finds her appealing, and why wouldn’t he? It seems she’s also a fan of old books.

*****************

We have a problem. It turns out that Harold’s Jordan Hester is the identity thief, not mine. I called to let him know, but something’s wrong, because his responses aren’t making any sense. First he went off on a tangent about a Dickens book. Then it was four “wows” in a row, which is definitely not “Finch speak.” Finally, his line was cut off. He’s obviously in trouble, but I still have to finish handling matters on this end, so I’ve sent Fusco to rescue him.

*****************

March 30, 2012

It turns out that the fake Jordan Hester dosed Harold with ecstasy, and left him alone in the apartment with chemicals cooking in a microwave, set to spark a fire that would have killed him. Thank God Fusco got there in time.

Harold on ecstasy is quite an experience. For one thing, he’s loose-limbed, moving more smoothly than I’ve ever seen. I think that’s at least partly because he isn’t experiencing his usual pain; in fact, at the moment, he’s not fully aware of his injuries. He’s also behaving like a hyperactive teenager, excited and impulsive. Fusco said he had to distract him from pushing all of the buttons for the lights and sirens in his police car. When handed a computer, Finch wanted to hack the Pentagon, but after some effort, Fusco finally got him focused on tracking down the accountant who had been working with the fake Hester. Only Finch could manage to complete such a complicated task while drugged.

After we transferred Harold from Fusco’s car to mine, he was adamant that we return to the bookstore he had visited earlier that day, insisting that he just _had_ to buy the copy of Kafka’s _The Trial_ that he had been looking at. Luckily, the store owner had stayed late to catch up on paperwork, and was just locking up when we arrived at 10:45. He wasn’t too excited about opening up again, but when Harold handed him $400, his attitude improved dramatically. It took a lot of cajoling on my part to get us out of the store in fifteen minutes; if I hadn’t been there to push him along, I’m sure Harold would have spent hours happily viewing every book in the store.

Then he insisted that we get something to eat, so we wound up in a pizza place, sitting in the most secluded corner I could find. On a normal day, Harold wouldn’t even consider the option of eating food with his hands, but that certainly wasn’t the case tonight. He spent half of the meal with a string of cheese hanging on his chin without realizing that it was there. I switched the beer he ordered with my glass of water, because I certainly wasn’t going to let him consume any alcohol before the ecstasy is out of his system. He didn’t notice that either, fortunately.

Evidently, he was reliving his college days, which makes me wonder if he might have done a bit of experimentation back then. In any case, he chattered on through the entire meal about his favorite—and least favorite—professors, as well as the escapades of various friends. If this was what Harold was like at that age, and not solely the result of the ecstasy, he was a much more open and gregarious person than he is now. Everything he sees strikes him as funny, and he’s got a deep chuckle that sounds downright evil. Over the course of the meal, his energy finally started to flag. By the time we finished, there was a softness about him, very unlike the sharp, hard-edged persona that he’s cultivated.

I took him back to the library to spend the night, which is when he became very lonely and needy. He practically begged me to stick around and talk, volunteering to answer any personal question I asked. If this had happened during the first few weeks that I was working for him, I would have jumped at the opportunity to learn some of his secrets. But, tempting as his offer was, I have too much respect for him now to want to take advantage of his moment of vulnerability, so I just said goodnight and walked away. I will stay at the library overnight so I can look in on him, but I’m hoping he’ll fall asleep before my first check-in.

*****************

I looked in on Harold several times during the course of the night. Fortunately, he had finally worn himself out, so he went to sleep pretty quickly, and stayed asleep throughout the night. He didn’t get up till after 10:30 this morning. After briefly thanking me—and asking me to thank Fusco—for rescuing and taking care of him last night, he clearly wanted to drop the subject.

I’m going to need to talk to him about not eating or drinking anything he can’t trust to be safe while he’s out in the field, but now is not the time for that conversation. With the ecstasy out of his system, he’s experiencing the aftereffects: anxiety, irritability, depression, and inability to focus. He’s also in pain because of the way he was moving with no regard for his injuries last night. And he’s obviously still very embarrassed about what happened. It’s a good thing that there’s no number to take care of today. I’ll just stick around the library to keep an eye on him as he goes through the aftermath, as unobtrusively as I can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In a number of POI fanfics related to this episode, Reese hears Finch when he says “Goodnight, Nathan.” However, I am proceeding under the assumption that Reese did not hear this, because he had already walked out of earshot and Finch said it rather softly.


	19. Flesh and Blood

April 4, 2012

Our current numbers are the dons of the city’s five Mafia families, which undoubtedly means that Elias is the one who’s targeted them. Frankly, I don’t think their deaths would be much of a loss, but when I suggested that, Finch was having none of it. I had to smile at his comment that “I know they encouraged a certain moral flexibility when you worked with the CIA, Mr. Reese, but I like think that we’re reaching for a higher standard.” He’s also concerned about collateral damage, and he’s right about that, because I can’t see Elias taking care to avoid hurting innocent bystanders.

All five meet monthly at the Covenant Club in Brooklyn. Since no cameras or cell phones are allowed, I remarked to Finch that it wouldn’t be easy to spy on them, even for him. He took that as a challenge, and had an answer: reverse the polarity of the club’s fire alarm sound system into a microphone. As usual, he was as good as his word.

***************** 

Finch has been spying on Carter, and learned she also realizes what Elias is up to. Since Elias has already hit Caparelli, she plans to gather and protect the four remaining dons. Thankfully, Finch’s efforts meant I was able to arrive in time to save her from HR when she went to take Baseli into protective custody. We didn’t save Baseli, though.

Carter doesn’t know who she can trust on the police force, and she definitely needs back-up to pull this off. So, while I can’t say that she’s forgiven me for telling Elias where Moretti was being held, she was willing to meet with the two us, and she accepted the assistance that we offered. Finch is going to track down the recipients of the men recently paid to work for Elias. My involvement will be more direct, but just to be safe, I’ve loaned her some of my weapons to beef up her arsenal.

*****************

April 5, 2012

Finch called to tell me that Carter has kidnapped the three remaining dons and taken them to one of his safe houses. He blamed her aggressive action on my influence. When I thanked him, he responded “I’m not certain I meant that as a compliment.”

As we discussed Elias’ men tailing HR families, I suddenly realized that meant Taylor was also at risk, since Elias wouldn’t hesitate to use him to pressure Carter into giving up the dons. I rushed to Taylor’s school, but I wasn’t able to get there in time to prevent Elias’ man from grabbing him. All I could do was to call Carter and promise that I would get him back to her safe and sound.

I told Finch he needs to find out where Elias is holding Taylor. Turns out he had anticipated me; he was on his way to make a deal with HR.

*****************

Finch got Taylor’s location from Simmons. When we pulled up to the door and I prepared for action, he apologized for not being useful in this type of situation, picked up one of my guns, and volunteered to shoot it just to provide a distraction. Despite all of the contributions that he makes to our mission, and the personal risks he runs—like meeting with a member of HR to find out where Elias was holding Taylor—he regards himself as worthless because he can’t back me up when it comes to a violent encounter. He really shouldn’t—that’s what he hired me for, and I don’t want him to think that he needs to start carrying a gun to hold up his end. I tried to stave off his feelings of inadequacy by pointing out that he would be serving as the getaway driver, but I don’t think I actually succeeded.


	20. Matsya Nyaya

April 23, 2012

Carter is suspicious that Fusco is a dirty cop. Finch wants to tell her that he’s working with us, but I think they’re both safer not knowing.

*****************

April 24, 2012

My armored truck partners decided to pull a prank on me with a fake robbery attempt. They had my heart going for a moment—Finch’s too, from the sound of his voice.

*****************

April 25, 2012

It turns out that Tommy Clay was part of the crew that pulled off the robbery, starting with an explosion that flipped the truck. When I went after the two masked gunmen, Tommy shot me in the back, and Murray, the driver, in the chest.

I woke up in the hospital just in time to see Murray die. I would have died as well if I hadn’t been wearing my vest. Then Carter showed up and helped me out of the emergency room.  


Since he hadn’t had any success in reaching me via my phone, Finch called Carter’s phone instead. The relief in his voice was audible.

*****************

April 26, 2012

For a moment, while Lynch was pointing his gun at me, I thought I was a goner. But things have definitely changed; this time, Fusco _saved_ my neck. Maybe he’s stopped thinking about how it would simplify his existence if I was gone.

It was a somber conclusion when I rejoined Finch at the library. He asked me whether we had actually accomplished anything with this number. I reminded him we saw to it that Tommy didn’t get away with murder, but actually, I agree with him; this number was damn near pointless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first episode in which we have the "Are you there, Finch?" "Always." dialogue. However, with the tones of voice involved, the exchange was simply informational at this point. We'll have to wait for a later occasion for it to be said in a manner that conveys real emotion.


	21. Many Happy Returns

May 1, 2012

I beat Finch to the library this morning, only to have him inform me that I had a day off because there was no number. As it turned out, he knew that it was my birthday, and was annoyingly chipper in bringing up the topic and handing me a present before shooing me off to “Do whatever it is you do.” When I questioned whether he didn’t already know what that was, he somehow managed a straight face as he claimed that he respected my privacy. I consider it a major achievement that I kept myself from snorting in response.

*****************

Since I had free time, I went to Columbus Park to play xiangqi with Han. When I told him it was my birthday, he wished me well and asked if I had received any presents. So I opened Finch’s gift right then and there, only to discover that it was a key, with no information as to what it unlocks. While it’s Finch’s nature to be stingy about sharing information, this seems counterproductive.

*****************

May 2, 2012

Finch called early this morning to say that there was no number today either. I’ve never had two days off in a row since I began working for him, and, frankly, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I turned on the radio, trying to distract myself with a re-broadcast of last night’s baseball game, but it didn’t work. Finally, instead of just wasting my day in boredom, I decided to resume my research project on Finch. 

*****************

After making sure to remove the battery from my phone, I picked up one of Finch’s cars and stationed myself near the library, which paid off when I saw him heading out just before noon. I tracked him to a bar, which didn’t look like the kind of place Finch would patronize by choice. At that point I began to wonder whether he was working a number without me for some unknown reason.

He walked out of the bar about a minute later, followed by a tall guy in a leather jacket who stopped Finch and started asking him questions, so I decided I’d better intervene. As I drew closer, I heard the man suggest taking Finch down to the field office, so he must be law enforcement of some sort. Finch’s eyes widened as he saw me approaching; that was definitely the look of a man who felt guilty about something. I introduced myself as Detective Stills, and pulled Finch away on the pretext that he was my CI.

I’m sure Finch had a good idea of how pissed I was by the way I hustled him to the car. As we drove off, I asked who the man was; Finch identified him as U.S. Marshal Brad Jennings, then clammed up for the rest of the ride. He continued giving me the silent treatment until we had returned to the second floor of the library, by which time he had evidently decided he should go on the offensive and accuse me of following him. I refused to let him get away with that attempt at distraction, and demanded to know if he was working a number without me.

He must have known he was playing with fire, but he didn’t back down. Instead, he told me he had decided it was best to let me sit this one out because of my “sensitivities,” a comment that raised my temperature a few degree higher. When I demanded more explanation, he explained that he believed the number was a woman fleeing her abuser. He said that he had been puzzled early on when the Machine kept providing same number time after time; clearly, he regrets that it took him so long to realize that these were victims, usually women, who wound up being killed by someone close to them. 

Obviously, the “everything” that Harold knows about me includes the way that Jessica died. Until just now, I thought I was okay with how much he knows about my life, but right now this feels like an aggressive push into a part of my past where he has no business intruding. My anger with him just keeps building.

For now, though, I need to set that aside, and push down the memories of Jessica and her husband that keep threatening to pop up. I have to focus on helping Karen Garner/Sarah Atkins, or whatever her real name is.

*****************

It turns out that the number’s real name is Sarah Jennings, and the marshal is her husband. The only way I could think of to help her was to visit the marshal's office and let Jennings know what a real monster looks like. I informed him that he’d better leave Sarah alone. Finch disapproves, but who the hell cares?

Unfortunately, Sarah managed to sneak out of the apartment without Finch noticing while I was taking care of her husband. She tried to leave town by train, but was stopped by the police. By the time Finch and I managed to get to the station, Jennings had already picked her up.

For a moment, all I could feel was the sense of failure sweeping over me. I knew she was going to die, just like Jessica. Then Finch pulled another rabbit out of his hat, and tracked all of the mobile hot spots in government cars by hacking into the network. From there I could figure out which car was Jennings’.

At that point, my feeling of failure was quickly swept to the side by the resurgence of my fury. I put it to good use by loosing my inner monster once again and ordering Finch out of the car. What I need to do I don’t want him to be any part of. I have to stop Jennings, whatever it takes.

*****************

Finch hasn’t given up trying to stop me. He called to ask about what I planned to do with Jennings, and recommended that we bring the police in. At that point I’d had all from him that I could take, and informed him in no uncertain terms that if he didn’t like my methods he should hire someone else. Then I hung up on him.

*****************

I tracked Jennings to a motel in Poughkeepsie and arrived just in time to save Sarah from her husband, sending her off to freedom in Finch’s car. I knocked out Jennings, tied him up, stuffed him in the trunk of his own car and headed off.

Finch sent Carter after me. I pulled over and listened to what she had to say, but I couldn’t let her stop me. Her conscience won’t allow her to do what needs to be done with Jennings. That’s my job.

*****************

I texted Finch to put the car in Sarah’s name, then removed the battery from my phone and disabled the mobile hotspot in the car, so he couldn’t contact or track me any more. Then I headed to Newark. When I first started working with Harold, I didn’t really trust him, so I set up half a dozen caches there with identification, cash, and credit cards, in the event that I needed to disappear quickly. After I picked up two caches, I made a quick stop at a pharmacy to get my hands on enough sedative to keep Jennings unconscious for several days. Now I have to decide exactly what I’m going to do with him.

*****************

May 5, 2012

The last three days have gone by in a blur. I’ve been driving for hours on end, stopping only long enough to gas up the car, holing up for a few evening hours in motels to let Jennings wake up just long enough to eat and do his business before drugging him again while I get a couple hours of sleep.

As the miles and the cities went by during the first day and a half, I spent a lot of time doing my best not to think about anything—not Carter, not Jessica, and definitely not Finch. To the extent that I made any conscious choice, it was only to let my anger cool before I did anything I might later regret. My initial impulse—to beat Jennings to death with my bare hands—pounded strongly in my head for hours. Frankly, that’s no more than what he deserved. But I somehow knew I couldn’t just let myself go ahead and finish him off.

Because—and it took a while to admit it to myself—this wasn’t just about Jennings. This was about Sarah, who, as desperately as she had tried to escape her husband’s violence, hadn’t shown a single indication that she wanted him dead. While she would never know exactly what I had done to stop him from coming after her again, the look in her eyes just before she left the motel conveyed a message that she trusted me to do the “right” thing—whatever that might be.

It was about Carter, too. Carter: a cop with a moral code as spotless as that of anyone I have ever met, who tried to stop _me_ from doing what _she_ wouldn’t do. I knew that if I just followed my impulses and killed Jennings, I would lose whatever level of respect I had managed to earn from her. She would never help out with the numbers again—probably couldn’t even stand to look at me.

And it was about Jessica. I’d left her behind because I had an inkling of the darkness that I would soon be inhabiting, but that hadn’t stopped me from feeling that I had to take care of her. Learning how spectacularly I had failed plunged me into a coldness far beyond anything I had ever experienced before. That coldness had solidified into a quiet, deadly rage when her husband prepared to attack me. I had very nearly killed him, until a sudden vision flashed before my eyes, showing me how repulsed Jessica would have been by the man I had become. And now I was teetering on the edge of becoming that man again.

Most importantly, it was about Harold. Harold, who had done more than anyone to pull me back from the darkness by offering me a mission to save people. The man who had demonstrated absolutely no fear of me even when I slammed him against a hotel wall with an arm pressed to his throat. And what had I done? I had let the monster in me show, in order to scare him out of the car. Guiltily, I remembered how his eyes had widened with shock. Harold didn’t deserve to deal with that monster. In retrospect, I could see how he had genuinely been trying to protect my feelings by handling the number without me.

And when he had made one last attempt to reach out to me by phone, what had I done? Struck out at him with a sharply worded retort, intentionally drawing blood. Then I hung up. Oh, Harold had kept trying to reach me. I had stolidly ignored five calls and three texts over the next two hours. When I completely ran out of patience, I severed all contact so that he couldn’t call me, text me, or even track where I was. Knowing the man, he’d probably continued trying to get through every hour since we had last talked. My radio silence must have convinced him that I’d killed Jennings, destroyed the body, and was running away.

The irony was, I now realized that I had actually made my decision about what to do with Jennings even before I’d left Newark. If I had really intended to kill him and then run away, I would have headed north, planning to dispose of the body before I slipped across the border into Canada. Instead, I was driving southwest, which meant that I was on my way to Torreón. And there was only one reason to go there.

I paid off an official to let me cross the border into Mexico at Roma. From there, it was another half a day to the Torreón Penitentiary, plus a couple of hours to locate and grab ten kilos of uncut heroin to deliver along with Jennings. Warden Peña is still in charge, and was quite willing to take on another American prisoner, especially one accompanied by a substantial donation for the penitentiary’s medical service. I left the warden with specific instructions to inform Carter about the prisoner that had just been dropped off by a Marshal Jennings.

I bleached and burned Jennings’ car so it couldn’t be tracked back to him. Then I stole another car to drive back to Laredo, where I caught a red-eye flight to New York. I want to get back to work, but first I have to find out whether I’ve destroyed everything that Harold and I have built up between us. It’s only right that we do this face to face—even if it turns out that he never wants to see me again.

*****************

May 6

I found Harold early this morning at a bench in Queensbridge Park, where we first met. I can’t say that we talked through our feelings, and there was no apology on either side. But my anger has washed away, and Harold seems to hold no grudge, I think that matters are reconciled.

When I asked him if Jessica had been one of those repeating numbers, he didn’t give me a direct answer. Instead he told me that neither of us could have done anything, because we weren’t yet working together. He reminded me what a powerful team we have become. Maybe he needed to remind himself about that when it looked like I might have left for good.

Before walking away, he gave me an address on the back of Harold Wren’s business card (which must mean that he realizes I already know about that identity), claiming that he had forgotten to give it to me as part of my birthday present. It turns out that the key he gave me unlocks the door of a huge loft apartment in Chinatown, furnished with all of the essentials. Leave it to Harold to make the grand gesture. It’s quite a place, although it’s going to take a while to adjust to all these big windows. Still, given that we’re talking about Harold, he probably bought the entire building and installed one-way, bullet-proof glass.

On one side, the windows look out over Columbus Park, where I spotted Han, engaged in a game of xiangqi. So much for Harold’s claim that he respects my privacy. But I can’t seem to summon any outrage about that any more. Maybe it’s not so bad to be known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the midst of the episode, John looks at his phone, which says the date is April 24. The paperwork that Carter receives from her friend Gene identifies John’s birth date as May 1. In “return 0” the birth date on John’s tombstone is May 4. These are the kinds of inconsistencies that drive me nuts!
> 
> I selected May 1 as the best choice for his birthday because it doesn't contradict what has come before, and it—barely—allows for sufficient time for the events of this episode to be completed before the next, “No Good Deed,” which begins on May 7 (when you count back the days from May 9 and 10, which are identified on screen late in the episode). Even so, I had to work out travel details that made it possible for Reese to transport Jennings to Mexico and still be back in New York in time for the events of the next episode. When I finally realized that he gave Harold’s car to Sarah and drove Jennings’ car to Mexico, it made perfect sense for him to destroy the car and fly back.
> 
> In re-watching the episode, it struck me that when Reese returns, he asks Finch the same question that Finch asked the Machine after Nathan’s death: “Did you know?”


	22. No Good Deed

May 7, 2012

Early this morning we received a number that turned out to be very quick and easy to handle. Finch encouraged me to take the rest of the day off, which seemed to me to be the perfect opportunity to tail him, so I stationed myself across the street from the library and waited for him to emerge. I followed him for about an hour and a half that was spent engaged in what was a fairly leisurely stroll. He was picking up a copy of a magazine at a news stand when Fusco called about HR. He laughed when I told him I was busy with research, which he understood meant digging up more information about Finch. So I made a crack about the fact that after weeks of tailing Finch, he still hasn’t figured out where the man lives. He responded by challenging me to try to do any better.

Finch took a look at his phone; I figured that meant that he must have received a message. He headed directly to a nearby pay phone and picked up the receiver, but didn’t dial a number or say a word. Then, immediately after hanging up, he called to tell me we had a new number. I had always assumed he received the numbers in the library, but maybe not.

I took a less direct route back to the library just to make sure Finch didn’t realize how close I was to him. By the time I arrived he was busy gathering information. Deciding to provoke a reaction, I pulled a book off the shelf and kept my eyes on it even when he began conveying data about the new number, Henry Peck. I figured that behavior would annoy Finch (along with the comment I made comparing Peck with him), and I wasn’t disappointed. I made a point of saying that I knew he hadn’t received the number at the library, and informed him that it was time I knew how the Machine communicates the numbers, in case anything ever happens to him. Immediately, he closed off and became prickly. All he would say is that he has a contingency.

*****************

I attempted to follow Henry Peck into his place of work, but it turns out he’s no financial analyst. Finch was amused that I couldn’t charm the secretary into letting me in, but between the 45 she pulled on me under the counter and the guard and spin lock on the main door, it became clear that Peck actually works in a much more secretive type of employment than finance.

There’s no way we can observe him at work through our normal methods, so Harold came up with another ingenious idea, and set up a surveillance camera in a coffeemaker. Once he dropped it off, it was put into operation almost immediately. That’s how we were able to determine out that Peck is employed at an NSA listening station.

*****************

While observing Peck in his apartment tonight, I mentioned that he didn’t seem to have much of a life outside of work. Finch replied that “human interaction” was difficult for some people. I couldn’t resist teasing him by responding with “Not calling it human interaction might help.” He is right, though, that the two of us are poster boys for workaholism. Well, he’s right about me, anyway, but I don’t know much for certain about what _he_ does or doesn’t do when not on the job.

Of course, that’s just when Peck’s life started to get interesting.

*****************

May 8, 2012

I had a little time alone in the library this morning while Finch was checking into camera surveillance around Peck’s building. As I was waiting, I spotted a stack of about twenty copies of the current issue of _The Boroughs_ magazine, the same one that I saw him purchase yesterday. Evidently one copy wasn’t enough.

I was surprised to see that Finch hadn’t emptied the wastebasket, and the paper cup from yesterday morning’s tea was sitting in it. I pulled it out, noting the handwriting on it, and copied down the company name and lot number printed on the bottom of the cup. Right after that Finch walked in with an identical cup. This may be just the piece of information I need to figure out where the man lives.

*****************

Peck’s life is really interesting now; the NSA has placed him on leave and there’s a government assassin out to terminate him.

*****************

Finch was able to listen in on a phone call Peck made to Theodore Gibbons, deputy director of NSA. It turns out that Peck is in danger because he’s asking questions about the Machine, though he doesn’t seem to have realized that it’s an artificial intelligence at work behind the scenes of national security. We need to wrap up this case soon, because the more that Peck knows, the more of a threat to the government he becomes. Peck is so driven to find answers that Harold is rattled. He fears Peck won’t simply be putting himself in increasing danger—everyone around him will be in peril too.

*****************

I managed to save Peck from an ISA squad attack in his office. He was smart enough to get himself arrested, however, so he’s still out of our hands.

*****************

I pulled Peck out of the police station without incident, but he’s figured out that there’s an AI behind everything, and he’s determined to get the word out that the American government is spying on its citizens. He called Special Counsel from the taxi; almost immediately, we were hit by a sniper and crashed. I just managed to stop the sniper when he came to finish Peck off. Fortunately, he was never told exactly why Peck was a threat.

Unfortunately, when I turned around, I found out Peck that had run off again. As hard as we have tried, I can’t see any way we can convince him to stop. He's just too single-minded. But Finch seems to think he knows what to do.

*****************

May 9, 2012

Peck lined up a meeting with a reporter to take place this evening. Harold has decided that the only thing to do is to talk with him, face to face. He’s asked Carter to stop the reporter from meeting Peck at the café on the pretext of questioning her about a case, so that Harold can meet with him instead. While I’m concerned that this plan might not work, given Peck’s persistence, I don’t have any alternative to suggest. But I will definitely be nearby, in case my type of persuasion becomes necessary.

*****************

This morning, I called Kramer Paper Products company headquarters, and managed to get them to send me a copy of the invoice for the paper cups. The invoice identified Soldo’s Coffee as the purchaser. Soldo’s has five locations in Manhattan, and another dozen in the other boroughs. I checked out two in northern Manhattan today, but the handwriting on the cups didn’t match the one that Finch brought in.

Then it was time to go back to work. The government sent out a replacement ISA team to take out Peck and the reporter, and I had to stop them. Once that was taken care of, I moved closer to the meeting point and listened in on the conversation, just to make sure that Peck, once he learned the information he had been seeking about the Machine, wasn’t going to become a threat to Harold’s anonymity.

Fortunately, Harold was very persuasive. He made Peck aware of the personal cost of continuing this quest, telling him that “Knowing the answer has cost me something I value more than my own life.” I assume he was referring to the loss that he mentioned at the end of our first number. That’s just one more mystery I have yet to unravel. But I’m hoping that soon I will at least have figured out where he buys his tea.

*****************

May 10, 2012 

I arrived at the Soldo’s location in Washington Square at about 7:00 a.m., and ordered a cup of sencha green tea. This time the handwriting on the cup was identical to the one I found in the wastebasket. I was just trying to determine my next step when I noticed a van with _The Boroughs_ ’ logo pull up at one of the houses and drop off a stack of magazines. Triumphant, I walked up to steps and rang the bell, prepared to startle Finch with the reality that I had managed to track down where he lived.

Instead, I was the one who was startled when a woman opened the door. I pretended to be Detective Stills, checking on a report of a disturbance, and volunteered to carry in the stack of magazines. She agreed, and I quickly learned that she was the artist who had created the issue’s cover illustration.

I was mystified as to what the connection to Harold could be, until I spotted a framed photo of her giving him a kiss. When I asked about the man in the photograph, she identified him as her fiancé, and told me how they met when she was out painting in the park one January day, and Harold said hello and offered her an ice cream cone, like the one he was eating. It was such a charming story, I couldn’t help but smile. Then she told me that he had been killed in an accident two years ago. It was obvious how much she still feels his loss.

I had arrived at the door with great glee at uncovering a big secret about Harold. I left it in sorrow for the unexpected secret that I actually uncovered.

Then I saw Harold sitting in the park, observing the house. As I walked over to him, I wondered if he would be angry with me, but if anything, he seemed resigned to the fact that I had found out about his fiancée. That made me wonder if he had left the paper cup in the wastebasket intentionally, so that I would find her. I'm going to have to think about that.

He told me that he gave up Grace because he knew he was putting her in danger. His own life was at risk because of the Machine, and being near Grace meant her life was at risk too. I wonder if the “accident” that Grace believes resulted in Harold’s death was actually an attempt to kill him. It might well be the cause of his injuries.

He spoke about Grace with such deep sadness that it’s obvious that he hasn’t been able to truly let her go. Clearly, he comes to Washington Park frequently just to catch a glimpse of her. I think that seeing so much of himself in Henry Peck stirred up a lot of memories for him. He’s unsettled; he’s even wearing the same suit that he wore yesterday.

Then he walked off. I just let him go; there was nothing I could say. I feel the loss of Jessica every day, but I think what Harold is doing is harder. In order to keep Grace safe, he has to keep making the choice to stay away from her. Every day. My heart aches for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on this installment in bits and pieces for a while. But posting it now makes me pay more attention to Finch's comments comparing knowledge of the Machine to a disease, and referring to himself as Patient Zero.


End file.
